


So Close in My Reach, Just Out of Touch

by Cefhclwords



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 12:21:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19150933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cefhclwords/pseuds/Cefhclwords
Summary: “You know you’re my favourite anyway” Dele smirks, smacking a kiss to the side of Eric’s head.Eric kind of wants to throw up and he wonders if Dele would find it weird. If his best mate would be thrown off by Eric grabbing a sick bag from the back of the chair in front of him and just spilled his guts into it.Based on the prompt: "You lied to me"





	So Close in My Reach, Just Out of Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Read more and request at my tumblr by the same name: cefhclwords :) <3 hope you enjoy this! x

“Are you going to answer me?”

Eric asked, fingers beginning to pull apart the label of the plastic water bottle held in his hands, nails catching the corner to strip it from the adhesive.

“Why do you even care?” Dele said, his eyes locked to the back of the seat in front of him, letting out a small, odd sounding laugh.

Eric took a deep breath, tilted his head back as his throat worked to swallow past the lump forming there.

He thinks for a moment there’s no way he can pass this off. He closed his eyes and counted to three, tried to remember his sister's advice. Tried to remember how his face looked when he didn’t care, sets his lips in an easy smile that takes all the energy he can muster.

“You lied to me” Eric says.

The words on paper hold almost every last part of the truth he wants to say. Carefully, between those four words exists the truth that has been tucked behind his eyelids for the better part of two years. 

All the things he doesn’t say, the messages that never get sent, the unbearable feelings that claw their way up his throat. 

The fight he has every day with himself because he knows how this goes. He can see how it ends and it’s not in his favour.

On paper, spelled in huge capital letters, and strung up on display, Eric thinks maybe Dele would put it all together, he might see the whole fucking mess of it.

But Eric isn’t ready for that, the calamity of it coming to a head, the moment of even understanding that would undo it all.

So he says it through a laugh, ‘you lied to me’ thrown away like a joke, a play on the way team already calls Eric and Dele a married couple. Instead, he walked headfirst into the banter that maybe is too on the nose, plays the part because that’s easy.

Dele pushes his shoulder then, posture more relaxed than moments before. And good Eric thinks, bitterly, he’s gotten great at lying if Dele believed that.

“You know you’re my favourite anyway” Dele smirks, smacking a kiss to the side of Eric’s head.

Eric kind of wants to throw up and he wonders if Dele would find it weird. If his best mate would be thrown off by Eric grabbing a sick bag from the back of the chair in front of him and just spilled his guts into it. 

He doubts he can pass it off as plane sickness since the plane hasn’t even left the runway.

“Besides mate, not to share too much, but you know I haven’t seen Rubs in a month and a night of Fifa is good.. but you know not that good” Dele smirked, eyes light and tone heavy with innuendo, chucking a wink in there just in case Eric really didn’t get it.

He wished he didn’t, he wished he could play clueless. And the way Dele phrases it like that, it makes him want to laugh at himself. Like he ever had a right to actually be upset about this.

The bottle of water between his hands had been stripped totally of its label now, fallen to pieces on the floor by his feet.

A boys night of video games wouldn’t win out with a night with his girlfriend who he barely got to see, no twenty year old in his right mind would make that choice.

What ground did he have to stand on, being angry that Dele had said he promised they’d hole up in Eric’s hotel room when they arrived, play video games till they were exhausted enough to sleep. That he’d said to Eric Ruby couldn’t make this match anyway, and he knew the nerves of an impending match made it almost impossible for Eric to sleep.

Who was he to hold up and conversation to Dele and asked why he’d lied to him. Dele didn’t owe him anything, not their friends and most absolutely he didn’t owe him anything more than that. He didn’t owe Eric wanted he wanted no matter how intently he did.

“Yeah mate course just fucking with you, have fun” he laughed, and oh my god are there parachutes on this plane? Because Eric wasn’t sure he’d last the next endless hours sat here, pretending he wasn’t so in love with his best friend that it was kind of ruining his life.

“Oh, I will” Dele laughed, slapping his hand on Eric’s knee, his grin making Eric’s eyes burn.

Eric stood quickly, “gonna piss before we take off” he managed to mutter out, spilling out into the aisle.

He chucked Rashford and Jesse a smile in response to their somewhat concerned looks- and god if they saw something was off Eric only had a finite time of hiding this from Dele.

The man slipped into the small bathroom, pulling the collapsible door shut, the metal lock closed, before pressing his forehead against to the back of it.

Eric wanted to hit himself, try slap his mind of this- Reset his mind. Because everything was good, so good and he was happy he was the happiest he’d been- he was on a plane to play for his country again, they were progressing through the World Cup in a way no one anticipated. They might actually do this and Eric was considering asking if they had a separate plane he could get because of these stupid feeling threatening to spill over.

Eric grit his teeth and brushed his fingers quickly under his eyes, clearing his face of tears. Angry at himself for letting them fall. Eric to a few moments to let himself be sad, feel the pain of it, the rejection that deep down is what made the tears sting behind his eyes.

Because simply, Eric knew he wasn’t Dele’s first choice and he shouldn’t be, it would be selfish to expect to be put before a girlfriend. No matter how logically Eric tried to put away the feelings flooding him, his emotional side won out, twisted his stomach into something awful and ugly, a feeling of jealousy he hated himself for.

Because Dele loves him, he’s Dele's best mate- he looks out for Eric and knows him better than anyone in the world. But he doesn’t love him, not like Eric wants to- like Eric loves him.

Eric turns and flushes the toilet from where he stands, sniffling once before he runs the water from the small sink over his hands. He lets his fingers freeze under the cool water before he presses them over his eyelids.

He resolves to leave it here, this awful feeling that threatens the best thing in his life because he selfishly wants more.

So Eric does, he, walks out and winks at Jess and Rashford as he passes, sits next to Dele and flicks the back of his neck, the part of his hairline that has a clean shaved line. 

“Alright Del Boy? Your music or mine?” He asked. 

And he’s fine. 

He swallows hard and wonders if any of the boys are going out after they land. Maybe he just needs some company, someone to share his bed so it doesn’t seem so empty.

He has everything a man could want, only in his twenties, enough money to be more than set for life. Playing for his country. Girls and guys messaging him every day, enough to have a new person each nice if he wanted.

He doesn't linger on the thought that the problem is he only really wants one.

This is enough.

He is fine.


End file.
